The Anatomy Of Ghosts

19

After divine service, a sea of caps and gowns flooded through the doors of Great St Mary’s and gradually dissipated itself among the streets, alleys and colleges. Holdsworth paused outside the railings of the Senate House to watch the spectacle. Most of the worshippers were in academic dress, and their gowns and hoods were of many colours and textures. Some slouched, some strolled; some walked in chattering groups, others in silence, one or two with their noses in books. Here was the University in its Sunday finery, and the sight was both magnificent and slovenly.

Holdsworth was in no hurry to reach Jerusalem. On his way back from Barnwell, he had called at Lambourne House in Chesterton Lane, but the little footboy who answered the door told him that Mr Whichcote was not at home to visitors. Holdsworth declined to state his business. As he had turned to leave, he had glimpsed a gentleman with a lean, handsome face looking down at him from an upstairs window. Whichcote probably took him for an importunate tradesman with an upaid bill, and the footboy had fobbed him off with a polite fiction.

Afterwards Holdsworth had walked about the town at random. Cambridge was like a place in the grip of an occupying army. The streets were mean and crowded, the houses small and ugly, huddled in among themselves as though for protection. The citizens scurried about with surly faces as though they had little right to be there – the true masters of the place were the gowned figures who lived behind the gates and walls of the colleges. Occasionally he had glimpsed above the rooftops a tower, a soaring pinnacle or, through a great stone gateway, a quiet grassy court surrounded by gracious buildings, some modern, others Gothic and picturesque. In Cambridge, he thought, appearances were deceptive: it was a place that jealously guarded its secrets and its beauties. And perhaps its ghosts, as well.

When the crowd outside Great St Mary’s had diminished, Holdsworth crossed the road and walked into St Mary’s Passage, which ran along the south side of the church. He saw the dapper figure of Mr Richardson thirty yards ahead, walking beside a tall, stately man swinging a gold-headed cane. Another, smaller figure sauntered behind them, swaying with exaggerated motions from side to side in a manner that caricatured the movements of the man with the cane. It was young Mr Archdale indulging in his sense of humour.

Holdsworth followed them back to Jerusalem. Mepal made his obedience with particular reverence as the little party passed the porter’s lodge. The three men paused in Chapel Court, standing in the watery sunshine. The tall man looked about him with a proprietorial air. Holdsworth, judging that his presence might not be welcome, was about to slip by when Richardson murmured something to his companions and turned aside to greet him.

‘Mr Holdsworth – this is well met, sir: I had hoped to see you before dinner. You will be in the library after dinner, I apprehend? I shall be with Sir Charles. But Soresby will be your guide – he is very able – he knows almost as much about it as I do, I believe. I saw him after chapel this morning and reminded him of the engagement. Pray ask him anything you want. He will place himself entirely at your service for as long as you wish.’

Richardson said goodbye to Holdsworth, and scampered after the Archdales, who were strolling across the sacred square of grass in the centre of the court. Holdsworth walked through the passage by the combination room to the door of the Master’s Lodge. When Ben admitted him, he said that his master was now up and dressed; he was with Mrs Carbury in her sitting room.

Holdsworth went upstairs to join them. Carbury was in his armchair. He was dressed in a smarter black coat than usual, newly shaved and with his hair freshly powdered, but he looked old and ill. Elinor was seated by the window. Holdsworth was uncomfortably aware of her presence.

‘I hope you are fully restored, sir,’ Holdsworth said once the greetings were out of the way. His eyes slid towards Elinor of their own volition.

‘Yes, yes. I am very vexed, however – that fool Ben let me sleep late and I had intended to go to church. Tell me, sir, was you there?’

‘No. Although I happened to be passing Great St Mary’s as they were coming out.’

‘Sir Charles Archdale was to attend the service,’ Carbury said. ‘I wish I had been there.’

‘I believe I saw him coming out with Mr Richardson and young Mr Archdale.’

Carbury scowled. ‘I shall have the pleasure of meeting Sir Charles at dinner.’

‘Sir,’ Elinor said. ‘Is this wise? You are not entirely yourself yet.’

‘I am perfectly well,’ Carbury said without looking at her.

‘Indeed you are, sir.’ Elinor rose from her seat and came to stand by her husband’s chair. ‘Still, we must not weary Mr Holdsworth with these little details. He hoped to see Mr Frank this morning, you remember, and perhaps he has good news for us, and for her ladyship.’

Carbury looked sharply at Holdsworth. ‘Yes, how did you do? Would they admit you without an appointment?’

‘As it happened, the doctor was not in the way when I arrived.’ Holdsworth exchanged another glance with Elinor. Neither of them mentioned their conversation at breakfast, and the shared knowledge was a kind of treachery. ‘And I was able to have some private conversation with Mr Frank.’

‘Could you get sense out of him? Was he in his right mind?’

‘They had dosed him up so much that it was hard to say where he was, sir. He is fearful – and I am not sure of what. His wits are wandering but I would not call him mad. The one thing I am sure of is that he is not suited to the regimen of that place. It is doing him no good. I asked him whether he would consent to be released into my custody, on the understanding that we would live apart from the world for a while without seeing anyone from his former life, including his mother. I think he would be agreeable to that. Such a course could not harm him and might indeed be of benefit. We cannot do worse with it than he is doing now.’

‘We must have Jermyn’s opinion on this,’ Carbury said. ‘We must proceed in the proper way.’

‘I doubt he would be in favour, sir. He came upon me unexpectedly while I was talking with Mr Frank, and he was not at all pleased. He had me escorted from the premises.’

Elinor said in a low voice, ‘If Mr Frank went from Dr Jermyn’s, and that fact became known to the world, would it not seem that his health had improved? Would it not suggest that his wits were no longer disordered?’

Carbury grunted. ‘That is certainly a consideration, madam. It does not help the college’s reputation that Mr Frank Oldershaw is known to be in Dr Jermyn’s madhouse. So if he is not there, if he seems cured, it can only be to the good.’

‘I believe it to be a matter of urgency, sir,’ Holdsworth said. ‘If he is not mad already, that place will soon make him so.’

‘This is all very well, but you cannot move at all in such an important matter without Lady Anne’s leave.’

‘If we sent an express tomorrow, we should hear from her by Tuesday,’ Elinor said.

‘Would you support the plan too, sir?’ Holdsworth asked. ‘A letter from you would carry far more weight than one from me.’

‘Perhaps.’ Carbury gently rubbed his stomach. ‘Yes, it will help no one if Mr Frank is made worse. Very well, I shall write to Lady Anne directly. It is worth trying. But I shall emphasize that the notion is yours, Mr Holdsworth. After all, her ladyship has deputed you to act for her in this. Where would you take Mr Frank if you could get him out of Barnwell?’

‘I wondered whether perhaps we might hire a cottage a few miles distant from Cambridge. I would prefer that to taking lodgings. The people of the house might talk.’

‘You would need someone to look after you, sir,’ Elinor put in. ‘What about Mulgrave? He would be a familiar face and he already knows how Mr Frank is, and would be quite prepared for what he would find.’

‘Let me think on it,’ Carbury said. ‘The college has a number of estates near Cambridge, and there may be something there. I will look into it in the morning.’ A bell began to toll in the distance, and he heaved himself out of his chair. ‘Well, well, it is time for dinner.’

‘Are you perfectly convinced of the wisdom of dining in hall?’ Elinor said. ‘I could send Ben to the kitchens and have them bring you something up.’

Carbury, now swaying on his own two feet, waved his hand. ‘I shall go down.’

‘But sir -’

‘I am not at all fagged now, and I hope I do not need you to teach me anything about my duty, madam.’

Holdsworth saw Elinor colouring. She turned away without saying anything.

Holdsworth and Carbury went downstairs slowly together, with Carbury clinging to the banister rail.

‘Why must women fuss a man so?’ Carbury said, not troubling to lower his voice. ‘It is unamiable, is it not? Still, I suppose one must not blame the fair sex for their weaker understanding.’

In the passage they met Mr Richardson, coming in from Chapel Court. He greeted the Master and Holdsworth with a bow and a smile.

‘Where is Sir Charles?’ Carbury demanded.

‘He and his nephew are coming directly, Master. Why, Sir Charles is such an agreeable man, is he not? So genteel, and yet so unaffected.’ Richardson paused with his hand on the door of the combination room. ‘By the way, Master, have you heard the news? Miskin has had the promise of a living in Gloucestershire – a snug little parsonage and seven hundred a year.’

‘I know,’ Carbury said. ‘He told me yesterday.’

‘We shall miss his merry laugh in the parlour, eh? The present incumbent intends to vacate after Christmas, so we shall need to elect a new Rosington fellow in the new year.’

‘I’m obliged to you, Mr Richardson,’ Carbury said, sweeping into the combination room. ‘But you need not trouble yourself in the matter. According to the terms of its endowment, the Rosington Fellowship is in the Master’s gift. You may safely leave it to me.’

Dinner on Sunday was a lengthy affair, and one that had an air of celebration. They began with a fresh salmon boiled and garnished with fried smelts, anchovy sauce and shrimps, with a calf’s head, chicken pie and a chine of roasted mutton. The second course involved a haunch of venison with gravy sauce and currant jelly. There were also collared eels, a green goose, lobsters and tarts. Holdsworth wondered whether they always dined in such style at Jerusalem high table on a Sunday, or whether this was in some sense a special occasion, perhaps because of the presence of Sir Charles Archdale.

Harry Archdale sat beside his uncle. His debauches on the previous evening had not harmed his appetite. Holdsworth stared at the sizars’ table in the body of the hall. The fare was simpler there. Soresby was hunched over the board, his elbows protruding and the sleeves of his stained black gown trailing on either side of his plate as he shovelled food into his mouth.

The conversation at high table was largely sustained by Carbury and Richardson, operating in competition, each attempting to monopolize the attention of Sir Charles. After dinner, Holdsworth found himself next to Harry Archdale in the movement towards the combination room. Holdsworth said nothing but stood back to allow the young man to precede him through the doorway. They were the last persons left on the dais, apart from the servants behind them who were busy clearing the table.

Archdale hesitated. ‘Pray, sir, how is poor Frank? You must not mind my asking. Mr Richardson told me that Lady Anne sent you here to see how Frank does, as well as to look over the library.’

‘His health gradually improves,’ Holdsworth said quietly. ‘But he is still not entirely himself.’

‘I wish you would oblige me by telling him when you see him that Jerusalem is devilish dull without him. If – if it is convenient, that is.’

Afterwards, Holdsworth drank a cup of tea in the combination room and made his excuses. He walked down to the western arcade and climbed the staircase to the library. Soresby must have heard or seen him coming, because he was standing in the doorway and bowing low as Holdsworth appeared. On the big table behind him were several open volumes and a sheaf of loose, handwritten papers.

‘I hope I have not interrupted your studies, Mr Soresby,’ Holdsworth said.

‘Not at all, sir. I am quite at your disposal.’

Holdsworth looked about him. ‘Is this the collection in its entirety?’

‘Apart from those on loan.’

‘Do you know how many books the library contains?’

‘No, sir. I do not believe anyone does.’ Soresby’s fingers plaited themselves together. ‘I would hazard a guess that there must be somewhere between fifteen hundred and two thousand volumes.’

‘Is there a catalogue?’

‘Mr Richardson’s predecessor attempted the task. Unfortunately it was left incomplete at his death.’

‘And has the library other materials, apart from what we can see here?’

‘What you see on the shelves, sir, are all the bound volumes we have.’ Soresby gestured at the cupboards below the bookshelves. ‘But in the past many fellows have left the college the fruits of their scholarship, and we store their papers here. It would be a formidable task to catalogue them. Also, we have a number of manuscripts of considerable antiquity, the earliest of which I understand goes back to the reign of King John. But these are kept in the Treasury along with the college plate, the deeds, the leases and so forth.’

‘I am obliged to you,’ Holdsworth said. ‘I shall need to make a survey. It may take several days. But there is no need for me to trouble you, or not in the normal way of things, for I work better at my own pace. If I have any questions, you may be sure I shall apply to you directly.’

‘Will you begin now, sir?’

‘No. And I shall not take up any more of your time this afternoon.’ Holdsworth indicated the books on the table. ‘I see you are already at work.’

Soresby tugged at the index finger on his left hand with sudden violence. ‘I must read every moment I can, sir.’

‘Because you wish to take a good degree?’

‘I cannot afford not to, sir. I have not sixpence in the world. If I am to make anything of myself, it is not enough merely to take my degree, I must be highly placed on the list, the Ordo Senioritatis, I hope as a Wrangler.’ He broke off. ‘Forgive me, sir, I prattle too much of my own affairs.’

‘Indeed you do not. I asked you a question and you most courteously answered it. In fact, you would do me a great service if you would allow me to satisfy my curiosity a little further. You must understand I am not familiar with the ways of the University. If you take a good degree, what happens then?’

‘I hope to attain a fellowship and take orders.’

‘What is the advantage to a young man in your position?’

‘Why, sir, as to that a fellowship gives one an income and a place to live. Besides that, it offers the chance of improving one’s lot with a little private tuition, perhaps, or a lectureship. And the college has a number of livings at its disposal and, in the course of time, one of these may fall vacant, and so preferment within the Church is not an impossibility.’

‘I hear the Rosington Fellowship may become vacant soon.’

Soresby’s expression changed: his face narrowed and sharpened. His features might have belonged to a starving man. ‘If I were to get the promise of it, my situation would improve beyond all recognition. But it’s in the gift of the Master.’ He paused and then added in a sudden, savage rush, ‘It’s all of a piece, here at Jerusalem, sir: one can hope for nothing, large or small, without the support of Dr Carbury.’